There has never been a time in my life when I wasn’t aware of football. It started early for me, when my father used to point towards an old leather Mitre ball and invite me to pass it to him. I was barely walking at the time, however this was an event that happened to me frequently enough that for a while I actually thought that my football was in fact called a “kick it”. Alongside my favorite Charlie’s Angels and Million Dollar Man t-shirts, my favorite item of clothing in the world was my “Arsenal Jeans” … an old tatty hand-me-down pair of jeans that had been repaired with a red patch where I had torn them.

Live football followed.  I went to Wembley to see Arsenal lose to West Ham in the 1980 FA Cup Final.  I visited Brisbane road to see countless Leyton Orient games and ultimately Highbury followed as my education in the beautiful game* proceeded. I still have boxes stashed away at home in London of memorabilia from all the games I have been to. Hundreds and hundreds of games spanning 18 years documented by autographed pictures of players like Tony Adams and Steve Bould bundled with my Junior Gunners season tickets and VHS tapes containing Cup Finals.

But, the thing that I used to love most was sorting through all my match day programs:  looking at the early season ones full of hope, promises that Arsenal were going to challenge.  Hoping that Brechin City might stay in the Scottish First division, or that Montrose might be promoted. I used to sit down and sort these programs by club into order and page through them scanning pictures, articles and info and think “I was there” or remembering the goals and the moments that made a fairly innocuous 2-1 scoreline a favorite memory.

As the season passed, the manager comments more often than not became more muted. Don Howe wasn’t doing the job at Arsenal. The Orient were in fact going to stay in the 4th Division. The dreams of a season of joy more often would be replaced with looking forward to the next year. Wondering if Charlie Nicholas was going to do the job up front for the Gunners, wondering how Everton can win a title and European Cup Winners Cup while Arsenal languished, and wondering if I’d like the program cover design for 1983 ….1984 …. 1985 …. 1986 …

It didn’t really change until 1987 when Arsenal actually won something taking the League Cup final from the kings of British football, Liverpool. A league title followed in 1988/89 again at the expensive of the Kopites.  As the honors began to flow for Arsenal, looking toward next season stopped.  My standards changed from hoping for victory to demanding it.  It has been six years again … I don’t have hope, just cynical bitterness.  The old league titles and European nights haunt me, and tease me like the fleeting memories of the girl that got away and those nights when you are young and everything in the world just feels perfect.

I’m not sure I will get my Arsenal joy back for a while.  Maybe not until we go another 18 years without a trophy and break that drought like we did in 1987.  Maybe never.  I have hope that they will win, but a chunk of me still demands they top out.  A big part of me is angry that Arsene Wenger does not buy talent and push for the title.  It is all very frustrating.

I don’t feel this way with the Wizards. Before I moved to the USA in 1998 I thought the Wizards were a joke just based on their name and their stupid outfits.  They were a living affront to everything perfect about my game.  I could not accept football being soccer, and the Wizards came from a world where a simple diving header had become a torpedo play and draws were not acceptable.

MLS was complete and utter shit and the Wiz were the best example of why America would never have a successful league.

Life is strange.

I wind up in Kansas City, starting my third year as a season ticket holder, running a blog, a member of one of the Independent Supporter Groups, taking time off work to go to training sessions, and I just cannot wait …. I CAN NOT WAIT … to watch my team play their first game of the season in a minor league baseball park today.  My Wizards, and am I hopeful?  No.

I am excited.

I just cannot wait to watch us kick some serious ass this season.  I can’t wait to tailgate and see people I have not seen for months.   I can’t wait for their first goal, the first win and qualification for the play offs.  Glory beckons,  short of a meat pie and a glossy match day program, I am ten years old again.

It is a new day today, a new season.

Major League Soccer baby.

Game on.